Red and Grey
by TheStoryOf14
Summary: And then everything was red and grey. Red with fury, anger, ... Grey with the happiness I should've felt. Only I didn't. Because he wasn't there. - One shot


**Authors note: I do not own any characters created by J.K. Rowling. Full credit goes to her for all situations and information mentioned in any of the 7 books or interviews, etc. as well. However, the storyline of this fanfic is all me and the little voice in my head – and thus, of course, not to be copied by anybody else – that would be stealing my creativity, my ideas – and not very nice**

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Mine isn't one of the stories where everything went bad, but then it ended well, so it was all worth it.  
It isn't one of the stories where random people fall in love and live happily ever after either.  
Nor is it one of the stories where lessons are learned, the bad guy goes down, and...

It's not one of those stories.

And at the same time, it's all of them.

It's the story of the bad guy getting slain, of people loving each other more everyday, of doubting whether or not it was really worth it.

And it's the story of how all that became grey.  
My life included.

I was perfectly happy with the way everything was, actually.  
I had a business I loved, a family that was just the right amount of crazy, I got plenty of attention from the ladies (no point in lying, is there?), and most of all: I had the best twin one could ever ask for.

I really, truly, honestly, without a doubt Had It All.

And then I lost it all.

Not everything of course, and I was happy that everybody survived, no doubt about it!

Except that I wasn't.

Except that without my other half, without the guy next to me to make jokes about it, without Fred there.

It wasn't.

It wasn't worth a Knut.

And I hated them.

I hated them for surviving, when all I really wanted was to get Fred back.  
I hated them for celebrating, eventually, when the one person I needed to celebrate was gone.

Oh, I hated myself even more than I hated them, don't even doubt it.

I hated myself for hating them.  
I hated myself for joking.  
I hated myself for being, even if only occasionally, happy.  
I hated myself for being glad that everybody else survived.  
I hated myself for getting back to work.  
I hated myself for not perfecting every single thing he had ever suggested for our shop.  
I hated myself for hating myself.  
I hated myself for being able to do all that.

I hated him for dying.

I hated myself for living.

And that was all I really knew for al long while.

All those different shades of red, of black, of violent, sickening orange.  
All those different kinds of hate, of fury, of anger, of rage, of...  
All those different ways to beat myself up, to make myself miserable, to...  
All those different manners in which I made others suffer with me, throug me, because of me, ...

And only one shade of happiness.  
Only one color of grey to convey thousands of feelings I just couldn't feel anymore.  
I just wouldn't feel anymore.  
I just shouldn't feel anymore.

Different kinds of grey, and I couldn't for the sake of me keep them apart.  
Couldn't tell which one held which emotion.  
Couldn't see which one would turn to red too, as so many others had.

And for the longest time, that was all I felt.  
Red and grey.  
Sometimes grey turned into red.  
Sometimes red felt as though it should've been grey.

But eventually, red turned to orange, grey became black.  
And then orange turned to yellow turned to green turned to blue turned to black.

And then everything was white.

And I wasn't really angry anymore.  
But I wasn't really happy either.

I just was.

And then, eventually, white fragmented into a billion of other colors.

And I could see the orange again, the orange that was Fred.  
And I could see yellow again, the yellow that was Fred.  
And I could see blue again, the blue that was Fred.

That was when I cried.

It felt like days, weeks, months, years even.  
I cried for the lifetime that could've, should've, would've been his.

And then, somehow, I could see the colors apart from him again.

I could breath again.

I could laugh again.

I could live again.

There still was red, and grey -  
But now, they were part of the whole, part of the family, a part of me that I treasured.

Because it reminded me of who he was, and who he wouldn't have wanted me to become.

And somehow, I lived again.

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**For those wondering: I've put Leaving Home on a hiatus, because I honestly don't know where to go with it anymore, I had the whole thing outlined and it sort of just changed... However, I promise I'll try to get back to it, as I will to The Sorting. For the time being however, please let me know what you thought! Greetings!**


End file.
